Palingenesis
by Crystia
Summary: To acquire his revenge, the Thief King places his soul at stake in a forbidden ritual—but his sacrifice results in a darker creation than he intended. Yami no BakuraxThief King Bakura


**Contest Fic, Season 9.75, Second Round: Geminishipping (Thief King BakuraxYami no Bakura)**

**Big thanks to ****Crysanth**** for being my beta, and deviant art's ****thooruchan**** for the cover art. :)**

* * *

pal·in·gen·e·sis  
origin: Greek [from _palin (_again) + _genesis__ (_birth)]  
1. rebirth; regeneration.  
2. the doctrine of transmigration of souls.

* * *

_If he died now_, at least he would have an appropriately magnificent death. The loss of his soul was an enigmatic demise, he decided, and truly befitting the King of Thieves.

Eternal damnation was a small price to pay if it meant that he could drag the Pharaoh down with him, after all.

So he chanted. He prayed. He leered when he reached the end of the ritual and the Millennium Ring tore into his flesh, its five needles burying themselves under his skin like golden stakes. He reached down to touch the crimson droplets seeping from the wounds, watching as they smeared and dripped from his fingers.

But no, something wasn't right. The torch lights flickered and the flame turned from a bloodthirsty orange to a powerful violet, darting across the stone floors in an array of flashing bursts. He'd finished the ritual, but rather than feeling stronger, he felt as though he had been left standing in the desert for days without sleep or drink.

The Dark One was unsatisfied with the sacrifice, he realized, and Bakura clenched his teeth, not knowing what he could offer his master if even the spirits of an entire slaughtered village did not assuage him. His master fed on the souls of mortals, but if this sacrifice was inadequate, he would kill for more in order to achieve his goals. He just needed the chance.

"The Pharaoh is dead," he cursed out loud, using his free hand to clutch his shredded flesh. "Dead! I cannot get my revenge if he's trapped in the Millennium Puzzle, so do not assume I will devote myself to you unless you grant me a way to follow him."

The points of the Millennium Ring continued to press furiously into his chest, however, and the thief wondered if the ring wasn't trying to rip out his heart—even if he escaped this chamber alive, the wounds would never heal completely. He reached out to steady himself on the tablet in front of him, the stone cold beneath his touch.

"What do you want?" he demanded, and he tasted blood on his teeth as he spoke. "My soul? Tell me, _what do you want?"_

The Dark one did not reply, leaving Bakura utterly alone, entrapped in an underground chamber after unsuccessfully bargaining for immortality.

Swaying slightly on his feet, the Thief King felt himself grow weaker as he waited to die. His life slowly and inexorably seeped away from him, and his originally lean and powerful body doubled over.

His master had completely drained him of energy, and Bakura could only hope he would have enough of a soul to haunt the Pharaoh in his afterlife.

It was then that a demon flickered into existence before Bakura's very eyes.

The agony of the ring's tearing points faded to the back of his consciousness as he observed the new arrival, forcing himself to breathe. He choked for a moment, unable to bring in enough oxygen to satisfy his rasping lungs, and he kneeled before the steps leading to the Millennium Stone.

Refusing to kneel before anyone, he struggled to his feet immediately and stared at the apparition suspiciously, studying its clearly inhuman features. It was entirely void of color, from the demon's mane of hair to its milky, translucent skin: the only exception was a set of crimson, glowing eyes. Even its skin lacked the normal Egyptian tan, having instead an ethereal pallor usually only seen on the deathly ill. The spirit's pale lips twisted down scornfully, and its white hair spiked up in uncontrolled chaos.

The Thief King was unimpressed.

The spirit lacked both size and power, and Bakura didn't find the creature properly terrifying at all. Its only intimidating attribute was its contemptuous sneer, and the thief was uncertain if he should be more offended if the ghost was sent as a reward or as his executioner. The demon's thin build and pallid appearance was not what one would expect as a gift from the master of shadows; it certainly did not look powerful enough to stand against the Egyptian gods. And if such a gaunt spirit had been sent to take his soul, then the Dark One was not taking him seriously.

Bakura trembled feebly with anger. He'd offered his damn _soul_, and it had been used in exchange for something so _weak_-

"Fool," the demon spoke with a voice startlingly similar to Bakura's own. "It was your _own _weakness that resulted in mine."

The thief's eyes widened, his heart pounding when he realized the dark creature had responded to thoughts he had not voiced. More blood trickled down his chest from the pounding veins beneath his broken skin, but he forced an arrogant scowl across his features.

"What are you?" Bakura spat between clenched teeth. He hunched over as he clutched his chest, trying to stem the flow of blood. A trickle of saliva splattered on the ground as he did so, causing the black dirt to turn even blacker.

"I am your desire for vengeance," the demon replied, watching the suffering thief with a wide smirk. "Mixed with the wrathful souls of Kul Elna and the bloodthirst of the Dark One."

The smirk became a maddened grin and then a full-out cackle, appearing even more crazed in the light of the flickering torch. The shadows strayed dangerously across the pale demon and the Millennium Stone, the sole occupants of the soon-to-be tomb of the Thief King.

"I fail to see how _you_ are going to accomplish what I could not," Bakura hissed as menacingly as he could, glaring up the steps as the demon watched him from above. He couldn't muster much volume, but he knew the spirit could hear him, whether through his thoughts or the echoing whisper in the silent cavern.

"I fail to see how you can accuse me of such," the demon mimicked, stepping down the stone steps leading to the Millennium Stone. "When you accomplished nothing on your own."

"Neither have you," Bakura snapped, lifting a trembling hand to point at the monster. The fingers appeared bloodless, his desert tan fading with his energy. The demon appeared to grow stronger as he grew weaker, but Bakura was still unsatisfied.

"But I've only just arrived. You'll find that I'm far more powerful than your pitiful form could ever hope to be," the demon declared, stopping a few paces away and spreading its arms. "I'll finish what you began."

Bakura let out a choked laugh, almost wheezing. The ring around his neck tightened in response, but the thief didn't even wince.

"The Pharaoh's already dead, isn't he? There's nothing left to finish," he snarled, his face taut with rage. How dare this spirit accuse him of being nothing but a failure when he had given up everything to get this far? The pharaoh was dead and his future suffering assured.

"He's locked away in the Millennium Puzzle, actually," the demon's eyes narrowed. "Much as I will be in the ring."

"Well, if you aren't already aware-" the Thief King snapped, struggling to breathe, "It isn't exactly a pleasant experience to have your soul locked away."

He gestured down to his torn chest and wasted appearance, and the demon paused. It observed apathetically as the thief's vitality seeped away painfully, doubtlessly imagining the pharaoh in the same pain.

"Are you saying you're satisfied with the Pharaoh's meager suffering?" the spirit asked finally, watching Bakura's rapidly paling skin with disdain. "Just because of your _sacrifices?"_

"I've spent my entire life working toward my revenge. You've done nothing!"

"Compared to me, you're nothing but a child. The same child who stood to the side and watched as his village was slaughtered," the spirit retorted, its face an exact mirror image of Bakura's fury. "You think you're stronger?"

"I was until you sucked out my life force, you pathetic leech," Bakura bit out. "How do you plan to defeat a tyrant who holds the power of the Egyptian gods?"

To his credit, the King of Thieves didn't so much as flinch when tendrils of shadows danced in lurid patterns, celebrating in macabre delight as they licked away at Bakura's life force. The demon's aura darkened minutely, and its reply was vehement.

"The pathetic one is you," the spirit declared, leaning forward to grasp Bakura's chin—a sensation not unlike a flame flickering on his skin, but much colder. "You failed to obtain your vengeance on the previous Pharaoh, and then you failed to destroy his son. Now _I_ will have to compensate for your inadequacy."

The demon's touch seemed to speed his energy loss, and Bakura found himself unable to reply.

_What are you doing to me?_ Bakura demanded through his thoughts; he _knew_ the other spirit could hear him, but the demon only responded by way of cruel observation.

"You're dying," the spirit said distastefully, an undercurrent of disgust tinging his tone. "Can you smell it? Your skin is rotting, falling apart as your body loses its soul. Look, you're even running out of blood."

Translucent fingers reached out to touch the pierced flesh beneath Bakura's robes, grazing the bloodied skin and coming to a rest on the Millennium Ring. The corporeal creature was correct; the old blood had dried and the flow had stopped, but no scab had formed. Taking in a rasping breath, the thief smelled the spoiled, sour stench of his own deteriorating skin.

"Soon you'll be little more than a skeleton with mummified flesh."

Bakura glanced down at the see-through fingers, watching as the spirit placed one finger over each of the marks made by the ring's five sharp points. Again, he felt a draining sensation at the deceptively gentle touch.

"Of course, I'm sorry this body has to go," the demon continued in a blasé tone. "This vessel was attractive. But these new powers are worth sacrificing your solid form."

Despite himself, Bakura's eyes dilated in fear, realizing he really was about to die.

"It's true," the spirit stated with detached interest. "You've outlived your usefulness."

The transparent entity carelessly trailed his fingers over Bakura's fading skin, caressing the injuries with morbid fascination. As the thief's blood dried, his complexion lightened, and the spirit watched with impassive curiosity as the muscles contracted into a more shriveled form. Bakura found he couldn't reply, choking on his words and barely able to take a breath.

"Although," the demon began thoughtfully, his hand continuing upwards and stopping in his hair. Unearthly fingers tightened and jerked the thief's head up violently. "I might have use for you in the future."

Their eyes met, and Bakura set his jaw mutinously.

_I refuse to be your sacrificial lamb,_ the thief declared across his thoughts, though the spirit did little more than gaze at him with depraved amusement.

"Yes, you could be a useful pawn," the spirit decided. "For a while, at least. I'll remember you in the future."

The thief struggled weakly in the grasp of the demon, but the long, willowy fingers only strengthened their grip.

"After all, you didn't fail completely," the spirit told him, leaning down so its washed-out mouth was mere inches from Bakura's own drained lips. "You created me. I will fulfill our revenge where you were unable to."

"I asked the Dark One for power so _I_ could acquire my vengeance, not you," Bakura hissed in defiance, summoning the last of his energy to retort out loud. The last words came out strained, however, despite his forceful intent.

"Well, it seems like the Dark One thinks you too weak, so I'll steal the satisfaction," the demon claimed.

With a wave of nausea, Bakura collapsed on the rocky floor, jagged pebbles cutting into his bloodless skin. He forced his head to turn so he could stare up at the spirit with unseeing eyes in his last moments as the Thief King.

"Yes, I'll even steal your title," the demon decided. "From now on, there will be no more Bakura, King of Thieves."

The thief gasped for breath, his rattling throat unable to protest. He curled over his stomach, desperately trying to grasp the remains of his life before the demon stole even that.

"I shall be Bakura, Stealer of Souls," the spirit declared, nudging the limp man on the ground with an illusory foot. The thief groaned in pain, thinking that the demon was surprisingly solid for a ghost. "And I think I'll start earning that title with you."

The thief's white hair fell across his face as he attempted to steady his breath, and he lifted up a shaking hand to touch his struggling throat. His arm froze halfway to its destination, however, and Bakura stared at the ghastly, unusually white skin tone. His chalky pallor was almost as washed out as the phantom itself— almost _translucent_—

"Oh, but don't you see?" the demon asked in mock surprise, interrupting the speculation. His red eyes flickered in the violet light, and his moon-colored hair almost glowed in the flame.

Bakura gazed out from his own bleached hair and between his now lifeless, white-colored fingers, and the thief wondered if he was staring at a distorted reflection. The spirit seemed solid, but the thief himself almost appeared to be fading. His body was stolen of its color, and he felt weak, thin, unreal—With a jolt, Bakura's eyes widened in realization.

_He looked exactly like the spirit._

Leaning close, the spirit smiled cruelly at the thought, but didn't reply. With a demonic grin, he placed his lips on the thief's own, sucking out the remaining drops of his soul. He waited leisurely until he had fulfilled his purpose, and then licked the thief's lips one last time, enjoying the taste of the salty substance and last breath of life.

Bakura's watched him in utter confusion for the briefest of seconds before his eyes unfocused, and the demon watched emotionlessly as the thief's body crumbled to sand, unable to hold together without its soul.

"Fool," the spirit scoffed, remembering how Bakura had thought they looked the same. He watched as the Millennium Ring fell to the ground with a metallic clatter, and repeated his question to the empty chamber. "Don't you see?"

His smile stretched across his now solidified body, and he lifted his spidery fingers, flexing them with selfish delight. He laughed when he realized that before being locked away, his last memory would be that of the pitiful thief. His final touch would be that of the thief's lips, the last taste his blood, and the final aroma his rotting flesh.

Not an undesirable source of amusement for a five-thousand-year wait.

"I _am_ you."

With a laugh and without a host, the remainder of Bakura's soul flowed into the ownerless item, accompanied restlessly by the Dark One and an entourage of vengeful spirits.

And the demon flickered out of existence, drenching the Thief King's tomb in darkness once more.

* * *

**A review would be amazing. Superb, even. Breathtaking, marvelous, stunning, and miraculous. Super-special-awesome. :D**

**...Okay, so maybe I used a thesaurus for all of those except that last adjective.**

**They're all applicable, though. :)**


End file.
